


Bitter Heart-Tight Lips

by Mad_Hatter_Usagi



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Abusive Parent, Angst, Beware, Drinking, Grantaire's in and out of the hospital at one point, Multi, Pining, Pining Enjolras, Pining Grantaire, and happiness, but it gets sad, i'll add more later, idiot boys being idiots, it's a rollercoaster
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-01-16 03:53:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1330951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Hatter_Usagi/pseuds/Mad_Hatter_Usagi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire meets Jehan and Courfeyrac at the gym, and later meets Les Amis. He befriends everyone easily (except Enjolras, because of course they argue a lot). His new friends make two discoveries/assumptions about him.</p>
<p>1. Whenever he gets really upset, he stops talking and keeps his feelings bottled up.</p>
<p>2. He's dating his room mate. (Éponine)</p>
<p>And assumption number two is wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Chapter Where Les Amis Meet Grantaire

Everyone noticed it the first time Grantaire came to a meeting, but no one said anything about it.

Jehan had been talking about this wonderful guy whom he met at the gym. The man had asked the poet whether or not the gym offered fencing, and Jehan sadly replied that no, not since he was the only one in the area who fenced. The blue-eyed man had smiled and responded that he'd be glad to be his practice partner, if he wanted. He needed to stay in practice, after all.

The strawberry blonde was ecstatic and spoke gleefully about it to all his friends. How this uniquely handsome stranger was to become his new fencing opponent, and he could finally take up his foil again. Courfeyrac was a bit jealous when he heard his boyfriend talking about some other man in such a fond way, even though he knew that Jehan was simply affectionate towards everyone who entered his life in a good way, but when he mentioned that Courfeyrac would love hanging out with him too, he relaxed.

After a few weeks of Les Amis hearing Jehan, and sometimes Courfeyrac, talk about the mysterious Grantaire, their curiousity grew too overwhelming. Combeferre finally asked for all of them why the couple hadn't asked Grantaire to come to a meeting.

They winced and Jehan answered, "We did. He refused when we told him what it was about."

"What?" Enjolras looked up from the speech he'd been typing out on his laptop.

"He said that he'd probably just argue with us over stuff, since he doesn't think our ideals are attainable. He said it'd be best if he didn't come," Courfeyrac continued.

"Enjolras, he's a great guy, but he's really very cynical about things," Jehan tried to say when he noticed the leader's darkening expression.

"That doesn't excuse-"

"Enjy, please," Courf whined, exasperatedly.

"Bring him here. I want to hear what he has to say," the blond demanded.

The couple sighed, knowing that they wouldn't be able to escape the inevitable. Either they bring Grantaire to Enjolras, or Enjolras would find some other way to meet Jehan's fencing partner.

So the next week, Jehan and Courfeyrac walked in with another man. A man, who was probably around 5-foot-eight, with shockingly blue eyes and dark curly hair. His nose was slightly crooked, probably from being broken once or twice, and his knuckles were slightly bruised from fighting. His fingers were stained blue, green, and purple with paint, and so were the cuffs of the sleeves on his shirt. His hair was held back a bit with a green beanie that's looked like it had been loved for a long time.

Jehan and Courf sat down at a table and tried to wave him over, but he went to the bar and ordered a drink first. Once a bottle is handed to him, he sat down across from the couple and slumps in the chair with a frown.

"How was I convinced to come to this again?" Grantaire groaned, although his eyes did linger on their leader for a moment too long.

"Jehan agreed to clean your apartment for you this weekend, while you and your room mate are out." Courfeyrac replied.

"Ugh, well maybe it's worth it if I don't start a fight..." the blue-eyed man replied.

They swiveled around in their chairs to watch Enjolras speak for a while, listing off things on their agenda. It turned out that, after about an hour of listening to a passionate idealist, Grantaire got just drunk enough to start belittling the blond's points. It began with an offhanded comment that Enjolras followed up with a rebuttle, and soon the two were debating politics and the people while everyone watched with wide eyes. No one had ever stood up to Enjolras, besides the police of course.

And then it went downhill.

"How can you not see that if we show the people what they could be, give them something to aspire to, that they'd follow us to a better world?"

"People are self-serving and lazy. After all, why fix what isn't broken?" Grantaire answered, tipping a bottle back to let the amber liquid slide down his throat.

"You believe in nothing!"

"What is there to believe in?"

"Maybe if you put a bottle down and looked up, you'd be able to see!" Enjolras snapped.

And then Grantaire fell silent. Everything was motionless for a moment, and then Grantaire made a dismissive motion with his hand and shook his head, signalling the end of their conversation. Enjolras didn't take it as a victory, how could he when he hadn't convinced Grantaire of anything, and had merely insulted him like he had run out of arguments? No, he was ashamed of his statement, although he was too proud to apologize.

Grantaire was silent for the rest of the meeting, which ended soon after. Before he left, Combeferre caught up with him at the door. "Hey, Grantaire, right?"

A short nod was his only answer, but the second-in-command pressed on. "I'm sorry for Enjolras's behavior earlier, I don't think he really meant it."

The shorter man shrugged nonchalantly, like he didn't care.

"Anyway, no one has argued back with him, because we all have the same sort of views on things, so he hasn't gotten very much practice debating. It really shows at rallies, he just starts insulting people. So I was wondering, if you didn't mind, if you'd come back every once in a while to give him practice. If you'd rather not, you don't have to, but it'd do him some good."

"He seemed fine," he muttered.

"He doesn't have tact when he runs out of new arguments."

Grantaire barked out a laugh before saying, "Then maybe I will."

The fencer came to the next meeting, and ended up staying later to drink with Bahorel and Feuilly. Through them, and Jehan and Courfeyrac, information about Grantaire began flowing through the group. He was a boxer, an art student, and he worked as a guide in an art museum some days. He was borderline alcoholic. He was bisexual. He had a mysterious room mate that none of them had met, who he may or may not be going out with, but he wasn't very clear. He didn't talk about his family no matter how drunk he got, or how much they prodded him on the subject.

A few meetings later, once Grantaire had left for the night because he had to pick up his room mate from work, Les Amis sat down again in their usual spot in the Musain when Combeferre motioned them over. Enjolras sat boredly next to him, checking his emails on his phone about a protest next month.

"Okay, so has anyone else noticed that Grantaire goes quiet when he's really mad or upset?" He began.

"Ugh! Finally someone else mentions it!" Bahorel exclaimed. "I thought I was the only one who saw it."

"He does?" Enjolras asked, looking up from his phone briefly.

"Yes," Jehan said serenely. "I asked him about it a few weeks after we met, and he said that he learned not to speak when he's experiencing a lot of emotion, or he'll say too much."

"Wonder why he started doing that..." Feuilly murmured.

"That's not healthy," Joly mumbled from his seat, leaned against Bossuet.

"No, it's not. That's why I think we should try to avoid making him angry enough to get to that point," Combeferre said, shooting a pointed look at Enjolras.

Getting the point, the blond nodded and answered, "I'll try," before looking back at his phone.

"Good." Everyone nodded in agreement.


	2. The Chapter Where Les Amis Meet the Room Mate

"No! C'mon Courf! Do your Enj impression!" Bahorel yelled for the third time, dragging the brown bottle to his lips again and taking a long gulp. The liquor burned his throat pleasantly as he swallowed.

Feuilly was trying not to nod off as he leaned heavily on his large friend's shoulder, his head dipping and popping up repeatedly as he fought sleep. Grantaire still didn't really understand their relationship. They both had informed him that they were straight, when he asked, but it didn't seem to sum up the entire relationship.

Feuilly joined in cheering for their friend, who was tipsily climbing onto the table with a drunken grin. Grantaire whooped from a few feet away, shaking Bossuet's shoulder as he did. The clumsy man was making a bewildered face as he was shaken, prompting a roll Joly's giggles.

Courf stood once he was on the table and messed with his hair for a few moments. Then he glared at an invisible person across the room and pushed his chest out a smidge. A slight pout in his lips appeared right before he began, practically screaming, "Liberty!" He then devolved into insane laughter and fell off the table, thankfully not hurting himself too bad.

That was when the owner of the bar walked over, an audible growl accompanying him. "You all get out! You're making a scene!"

"Aw, c'moooon..." Bahorel whined, although he could tell that the owner wasn't to be swayed.

"OUT!" He barked, pointing toward the door.

The men trudged out the door, a damper on their spirits. When Feuilly yawned again, everyone seemed to notice just how tired they really were. The red-head was already leaning heavily on Bahorel, so when he said, "I don't think I can make it home," no one was surprised.

Several other yawns were elicited, and much more nods in agreement, as they stood a few feet from the warm bar, in the cold. A long moment passed before Grantaire began walking down the street, then paused and turned back to his friends. "You coming?" He asked.

"Where're you going?" Courfeyrac slurred.

"Back to my place, it's closest. You guys can crash there tonight," He answered.

It proved true, because the drunk young men only had to walk three blocks to reach the apartment. He led them all up two flights of stairs and down a hallway in a red brick building, even though they had to pause to gain balance or pick themselves up from the ground every once in a while. Grantaire flung a door open and pulled them all inside, letting them collapse in disarray on the floor and couch in the living room.

"'Night," he murmured to the figures of his friends in the dark room, then turned to walk towards a bedroom in the back.

The friends who remained in the living room heard him open a door, and take a few more steps before speaking. "Ép," Grantaire began quietly.

There was a tired groan before a voice answered, "'Taire, you're in late."

"I was out."

"C'mere, sleep with me tonight, 'Taire. You sleep better when you do." A motherly hum sounded in unison with the noise of creaky springs.

"Mmhm...hey, there're some guys crashing in the living room, 'kay?"

"Just as long as I don't have to make breakfast for them."

"Since when do you make breakfast?" Grantaire asked, and then all was silent.

* * *

When Courfeyrac began to gain consciousness, he definitely didn't open his eyes. He could tell it was bright, by the light that shone through his eyelids, and his headache was large enough without the addition of light. When he heard the sizzle of a griddle and smelled coffee however...there really wasn't any contest. Courfeyrac grunted and pried himself out of the armchair he'd flung himself over the previious night. While he slept, he'd curled into a ball until he was wedged deeply in it.

His eyes fluttered open, and after a painful flinch, he began to adjust. Feuilly was already awake, but he was silently peeking over the couch, trying to spy on the two people in the kitchen. He was in Bahorel's lap, his hips encircled in the muscular man's tattooed arms. Courfeyrac vaguely remembered watching them curl up together the previous night as if it was a regular thing.

The curly-haired man looked toward the kitchen, where Grantaire was whipping around the kitchen. Eggs, bacon, and pancakes were cooking on the stove top, toast was in the toaster, and waffles filled the waffle maker. Most amazing of all, the coffee maker was almost done roasting a pot. The delicious smells of breakfast food had drifted through the entire apartment, dizzying the hungover man. The other figure in the kitchen was a pretty, lean girl that Courf had never seen before, and she was sipping a mug of tea while she sat on the counter. Grantaire was dressed lazily in a pair of yesterday's jeans and a wrinkled, green v-neck.

He caught the tail-end of one of Grantaire's ranting to the tan-skinned girl. "...then that bitch said that her dog was offended by my charming personality. But apparently the canary has some other choice words for me because it doesn't appreciate my profession. Like, is it my fault that the damn bird doesn't appreciate it!"

The girl bobbed her head, long waves of dark hair rippling with it. Her brown eyes, that were slightly smudged with make-up from the night before, were wide and understanding. "That bitch!" She exclaimed, her voice full of scorn.

"I know!"

The girl hopped off the counter as Grantaire stilled. She set her mug down on the counter and held his cheeks between her slim hands. "But you'll always be my perfect 'Taire," she said, pulling his head down to kiss his nose.

From Courfeyrac and Feuilly's view, they saw she wasn't wearing much at all. Only a pair of bright red lacy panties and an old, black, paint-splattered, Muse t-shirt. A t-shirt they'd seen Grantaire wear several times. And then they were wondering who the hell the girl was, after all, _didn't Grantaire have a crush on Enjolras_?

She glanced over at the living room and arched a disapproving eyebrow. "You two want some coffee?" She asked as the bell went off for the coffee machine.

Feuilly and Courfeyrac hopped up and dashed for the kitchen. Feuilly turned a bit green halfway to the kitchen and clapped a hand over his mouth. The girl pointed toward the hall as she said, "Bathroom's first door on the left."

Feuilly rushed off, and a moment later a terrible retching sound reached the kitchen. It was enough to wake Bahorel, and he kicked Joly and Bossuet, who were sleeping curled up against the wall. The boxer got a cup of coffee for himself and the sick ginger. When Feuilly emerged by stumbling away from the bathroom, breathless, he accepted the coffee gratefully and chugged it down. Joly crawled to the kitchen and took his coffee on the floor. Bossuet clocked his head on the corner of the coffee table, so he lay curled up in a ball next to it.

"Who's the chick?" Bahorel asked.

"I'm the room mate, you must have heard about me. Mon amour 'Taire must mention me often. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to get ready for work," the girl answered, trotting off toward the bathroom.

"She's your room mate?" Joly asked incredulously as Grantaire doled out the food, and started spreading cream cheese on a bagel and pouring coffee into a to-go cup with no explanation. He set the food and the cup on the end of the counter.

"Her name is Éponine Thénardier, and she's my wonderful room mate," the fencer agreed, setting plates in front of his friends as Bossuet entered the kitchen.

"What did she mean by 'mon amour'? Are you two dating?" Feuilly asked between bites of pancake. It was then that Éponine dashed out of the back, rushing around the room with a determined look settled on her face. She wore a pair of jeans that hugged her legs, showing off her slim thighs, and a lavender-colored t-shirt with 'My true love is caffeine' emblazoned on the front, a coffee cup with a smiley face on it sat under the words. "I'm late! How could you let me get side-tracked?" She shrieked, grabbing a messenger bag from the hook near the door and turning back to Grantaire.

Her furious look dissolved when she saw the food and drink waiting for her. Époninewalked slowly over to him and hugged Grantaire tightly, and stood on her tip-toes to whisper something in his ear that made him laugh. She took the small meal with her as she walked out, waving as she went.

"Farewell, love!" He called, turning back to the remaining food and filling his plate as the door shut behind her.

"Where'd she go?" Courfeyrac asked around his mouthful of bacon.

"Uhh...I think she has her shifts at the bookstore and the ice cream shop today. Yeah, because I've got work at the museum at noon today," Grantaire answered, nodding to himself as he took a gulp of coffee.

"So you two are-?" Bossuet tried.

"Oh shit! I'm late too! I've got Classics in five," Grantaire exclaimed, almost dropping his cup of coffee as he scrambled to shoved his shoes on and grab a patch-covered messenger bag. There were patches from bands, cities, landmarks, and just a few that he'd designed himself.

Before he dashed out, like his room mate, he turned back to them. "Put the dishes in the sink when you're done, me or 'Ponine will get to them later. Lock the door when you leave, alright?" And then he was gone, leaving his friends staring at the door with so many questions.


	3. The Chapter Where the Room Mate Defends Grantaire

"Please, Ép," Grantaire begged, giving her puppy eyes over his sketchbook. The girl was reclining on the couch, her phone in her hands as she played Fruit Ninja. Her dark hair spilled across the throw pillow that propped her up, and down her chest.

She glared at him briefly before returning to her game to slash through a strawberry. "No. You know I'm busy, 'Taire," she answered.

"Melissa would give you an evening off, and you know it!"

"Just because you and my boss are friends doesn't mean that I'll get a night off."

"You work too hard, and she knows that. She's got plenty of other employees hoping for overtime," Grantaire shot back.

"I don't even know why you continue to go to those meetings. You always come home drunk and rambling about how stupid their idealism is. Unless...you like one of them, don't you?!" Éponine accused, tossing her phone away and sitting up.

"Whether I do or not has nothing to do with what we're talking about!"

"Yes it does!"

"No it doesn't!"

"Yes it do-oes!" Éponine sang.

"No, it really doesn't."

"How about, if I go, you have to point out your crush to me. Deal?" Éponine asked, striding across the living room and holding out her hand for him to shake.

Grantaire gave her an eye roll and a long-suffering sigh before shaking on it. "Fine, it's a deal."

* * *

A few days later, Éponine dressed in a pair of black leather pants, and a red tank-top. Her hair was pulled up in a messy bun, with her bangs free. Her eye make-up made her brown eyes seem even darker. She leaned against the wall, by the door of their apartment, tapping her phone impatiently.

Grantaire appeared from his bedroom, apparently just finished painting because his face has a smudge of red down it. He's wearing a green t-shirt and a black vest, with a pair of black jeans. A pencil is held up by his ear, and he's holding one of his sketchbooks. "Okay, I'm ready," he said.

"Finally," Éponine replied, rolling her eyes playfully.

They linked arms and walked the five blocks to the Musain, Éponine chattering the whole way about her friend's crush. He lit a cigarette and took drags on it as they walked. She joked and elbowed him, making him laugh. Other people glanced their way and stared, but the pair of them didn't really care. When they neared, Éponine felt Grantaire tense a bit.

"C'mon, R," she elbowed him again. "Go in there and announce me."

He grinned and loosened up a bit. They played this game whenever one of them was new to a place. The one who'd been there would go in and say "Announcing..." and list off some bogus title and their name. They'd started doing this when they were teenagers and they'd been getting into medeival stories. It had sparked a game that they'd played ever since.

So Grantaire entered, while Éponine waited outside. Most of Les Amis looked up curiously as Grantaire coughed into his hand and stood up straighter, almost regally. Then he spoke up in a loud voice, "Announcing Lady Eponine Thernardier, maker of the best tea, owner of the cutest panties you'll ever lay eyes on, and ruler of the living room." He then bowed deeply and gestured toward the door as Éponine entered.

She giggled and pushed him. "'Taire!"

"C'mon, let's sit," Grantaire said, ignoring her protest. He led her to the back table and ordered them drinks. All of Les Amis, except for Combeferre and Enjolras, crowded around. They took turns introducing themselves and laughing as Éponine tells them what Grantaire had told her about them.

Courfeyrac pointed to the two who hadn't joined them, and said, "The one with glasses is Combeferre, and the blond is Enjolras. Enj can be a bit rough, but he's a pretty cool guy."

After a while, it all settled down. Grantaire leaned back in his chair, sipping at his beer periodically and sketching. Eponine glanced at the sketch and a Cheshire-like grin spread across her face. "So I'm going to guess that crush of yours is on Blondie," she whispered.

Grantaire choked on his drink and set it down, coughing. People glanced over and asked if he was okay, but he waved them off. When he finally recovered, he nodded slowly. "Fine, yes."

"Aw, my Grantaire has grown up!" She squeaked.

"Shhhh...Nothing will come out of it. He'd never look twice at me."

Éponine gave him a pitying look, but Grantaire had caught the tail end of one of Enjolras's speeches, and was now sitting forward in his chair. He began by tearing apart that argument, and listened to the blond's rebuttal. Soon enough they were debating, and Ep saw, by looking around, that everyone else had resigned to what seemed like a usual occurrence.

And then it devolved.

"Be serious!"

"I am wild," Grantaire answered.

"I don't see why you're here! If you don't believe in anything, then why don't you just leave?"

Grantaire fell silent. But Éponine stood and took those few steps toward the blond and slapped him, shocking everyone, especially Grantaire. "How about you shut the fuck up?" Éponine said, near-calm. "After all, what do you even know about R? Hm? Nothing.

"Grantaire is the best person I know, and he believes in people, just not change. He's seen living in poverty and harsh conditions, he knows more than the statistics that you spit. He's lived through getting kicked out and bullied because of who he is. And it's obvious to see that you've never had to live like that, rich boy. If you knew how hard it is and how it puts you down constantly, you'd see how it's near-impossible to stand up in the morning. How it's near-impossible to see a brighter day.

"So I don't care what R, or the others, say about you. You are a judgmental, under-informed, douche bag. And we're leaving," She finished, before turning back around and pulling Grantaire out of the Musain. As she stormed out, she wiped tears from her eyes and bit her lip, pushing past anyone who got in their way. She turned briefly back to them after shoving Grantaire out, giving Enjolras the middle finger, then turned back around.

The door slammed behind them, leaving the tinkle of the bells on the door in their wake. Enjolras sat down and rubbed his cheek, already regretting every word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My url is loser-angel.tumblr.com  
> I follow back


	4. The Chapter Where Grantaire and the Room Mate Go Away

At the next meeting, Grantaire doesn't show up. Everyone's mind is on the bad way that he left the last meeting. Especially Enjolras, who'd secretly been rehearsing his apology for a week. It's a quiet meeting, one that gets everything done too quickly because there weren't any breaks for arguments or jokes, leaving an awkward emptiness at the end that could only be filled by the talented drunk.

Enjolras, sat by his laptop, scrolling absent-mindedly through his email as everyone else got drinks. It wasn't like he didn't drink, it was just that he was a bad drunk and he felt like he'd be one to go too far that night since he was on edge about Grantaire. Really, he looked like he was staring with interest at his laptop's screen, but he was just blankly thinking about how bad he felt about what he said.

"Where do you think R is?" Bossuet whispered, but Enjolras's ears picked it up. He listened intently, understanding that this wasn't something he was supposed to hear.

"He said he probably wouldn't be going anymore, for a while at least," Jehan answered, sipping his beer slowly.

"Is he upset about last week?" Bahorel asked, looking upset.

"No, he said that he and Éponine were going away for a little while, and he's going to try to convince her to let him come to the meetings again when he's back. He said that they'd probably be away for a long time," Jehan answered.

Tension relaxed in Enjolras's shoulders, and he didn't really understand how the thought of Grantaire leaving for good caused him to have anxiety, but all was well. Grantaire would be home, and hopefully he'd be able to come back.

* * *

 

Almost a month later, Grantaire still wasn't back. Les Amis talked about him at every meeting, wondering where he and Éponine had gone. Secretly, Enjolras began to panic at the thought that Grantaire wasn't coming back at all. It seemed like far too long for some trip. Everyone was getting a little nervous, so Feuilly asked Jehan if he'd heard from Grantaire.

"No, he hasn't contacted me since he left. I was wondering if anyone would like to go with me, over to their apartment to see if they're back?" Jehan asked, looking around the Musain.

Bahorel and Feuilly instantly agreed to come along, and Courfeyrac was obviously accompanying his boyfriend. "We'll report back," Courf told Combeferre as they were leaving. "I'll call if we find anything out."

"And, uh, we're going to see a movie," Bossuet said, holding Musichetta's hand, who was also holding Joly's.

"So we'll see you later?" The aspiring doctor asked, tilting his head a bit.

"Sure, have a nice time," Combeferre replied, smiling pleasantly back.

Combeferre and his silent best friend watched as their friends filed out of the Musain. As soon as they were gone, he turned on Enjolras and frowned at him. "This has to stop," he said.

"What?" Enjolras asked, completely incredulous.

The man wearing glasses rolled his eyes, "Ever since Eponine and Grantaire left the Musain, you've been acting different. You want to apologize for once, but since no one can contact them, you're getting anxious and upset. You've also been bored and pouty during the meetings because Grantaire isn't here to entertain you. Over all, you're distancing yourself from the others because he's gone."

"I am not!" The blond replied, his face red.

"I beg to differ. You can't keep acting like this."

"But I was obviously wrong, and I need to stop insulting him whenever I can't think of anymore arguments. It shows that I'm petty," Enjolras answered, his face screwing up in revulsion for his own past deeds.

"He'll come back, and you can apologize then."

"But what if he doesn't?"

"He will," Combeferre responded simply, ending the conversation.

* * *

There they were, walking down the hall in that red brick building. They wondered just how many people lived in the apartment building, but they supposed it was a lot since there were four floors, and they'd passed quite a lot of doors on the second. The four friends clustered in the hallway as they read a note that was duct taped to Grantaire's door, 2G.

_~~To whom it may concern~~ , _

_~~To whoever comes to the door~~ :_

_To Les Amis,_

_We're going away for a while. Don't worry, Ép hasn't forbidden me from coming to the meetings._ ~~**Yes I have, he just won't listen.**~~ _We've got the following to deal with back in our hometown:_

  * _Ep is ~~trying to~~_ **going to** _gain custody of her lil bro. They've already done the apartment check, salary check, background check, and interview, so now we just have to get some paperwork done back home._
  * **R had a death in the family, so there's a funeral and a wake to attend.**
  * _We're gonna take Ép's bro to the beach for the first time, because ~~he's a tough little bastard and~~_ _he deserves it._
  * _Family drama will ~~probably~~_ **definitely** _keep us away for a while._



_We've left our phones at home, because ~~Ép told me to~~ _**one of us might end up drunk and send some pretty weird messages sometime**.  _We're not moving though, so don't worry we'll be back eventually, and I'll be back to annoying Apollo at the meetings._

**I'm still mad at you Enjolras. My hatred hasn't diminished, don't you forget that!**

**Bye!** _Bye!_

"Huh, well they could have just said." Courfeyrac said, pouting.

Jehan pulled out his cell and dialed Combeferre's number. When it picked up, he relayed what the note said, then said goodbye and hung up.

* * *

 "He's coming back, see?" Combeferre said after he told the blond everything that Jehan had told him.

Enjolras scowled, "I've told him multiple times not to call me that."

"You're really hung up on that?"

"Well-"

"It's an affectionate nickname."

"Based off of one of the most arrogant Greek gods. I'd rather not be compared to him," Enjolras growled.

"Then we'll just have to help him give you another nickname. Just be glad your crush is coming back," Combeferre said dismissively.

"I do not have a crush on him!" Enjolras exclaimed, red down to his neck and shaking slightly with embarrassment.

"Whatever you say."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My url is loser-angel.tumblr.com  
> I follow back


	5. The Chapter Where Grantaire and the Room Mate Come Back

Grantaire, Éponine, and a small boy scrambled out of the taxi. Éponine fixed the boy with a glare that clearly said, "I am watching you, don't you move," as he went to stand on the curb in front of the apartment building. The room mates pulled several bags and suitcases out of the trunk and placed them by the kid, who was staring up at his new home rather impatiently.

The skinny boy had dirty blonde hair, that matched his mother's, a small nose that matched Éponine's (which he had heard compared to their grandmother's, when his parents had deemed it necessary to speak to him that is) and a pair of wide brown eyes that belonged to his father and the other Thenardier children. At ten years old, those eyes looked far older than they should. He was cautious, but also reckless and eager to do anything to get attention.

"Gav, can you pick up a bag or two?" Grantaire asked as Éponine lugged two duffels and a suitcase into the brick building.

The boy nodded, happy to do what Grantaire asked. He would have put up a bit of a fight if his sister had asked him, but this was 'Taire, who had taught him how to build sandcastles and carried him on his back and promised to give him lessons in graffiti so he could tag better. He loved his sister, but he didn't want her to act like she was the boss of him, because no one was the boss of little, neglected Gavroche.

All three of them tromped up the staircase to the second floor, then walked to their door. Grantaire set a bag down and dug the key out of his pocket, unlocking it quickly so they could wander in, kick off their shoes, and collapse on various surfaces. Éponine dropped the bags in the front hall and wandered to the couch, falling face-first into the cushions. Gavroche dumped his load next to the couch and crawled into the armchair, closing his eyes, and nuzzling the chair. Grantaire let out a deep sigh and grabbed all the bags that belonged to Gavroche (four of the seven) and set them in his new room, which used to be Grantaire's room. Then he pulled all the bags that belonged to him and Éponine into their newly shared room.

As the two Thenardiers relaxed, Grantaire grabbed his phone, which had remained off and set on the kitchen counter for the past five and a half weeks. When he turned it on, he found out that he had twenty missed calls, fourteen new voice mails, and thirty-seven texts. After listening to all voice mails, and looking at all the missed calls and texts, Grantaire smiled and looked at the kitten calender that was pinned to the wall by the fridge.

That night there was going to be a meeting at the Musain. Perfect.

So he knelt down by the couch and laced his fingers together. When he was about to begin begging, Éponine's eyes flickered open and she announced, "No, 'Taire, we are not going to Les Amis' meeting tonight."

"Please?"

"No! Enjolras is a douche bag, and he doesn't appreciate your company, so why should you want to be around him?"

"It's not just about him, it's about everyone else too. I checked my phone, and they were really worried about us. Plus, c'mon, I really like him."

"He doesn't really like you, though, 'Taire. He sounded like he despises your company. It's not healthy to be around someone like that," Éponine reasoned.

"I don't care if he likes me or not, I just want to be near him. And I never claimed I was of a healthy mind."

"No, 'Taire. You don't even believe in what Les Amis are spewing!"

"Who are Les Amis?" Gavroche asked, sitting up.

"They're a social justice group led by a misinformed rich kid that Grantaire is secretly in love with," Éponine replied.

"What do they do?"

"Lead protests, attend rallies, pass out flyers, and try to get their message across. Most of them have been arrested several times," Grantaire answered.

Gav jumped up from his seat and raced to kneel by Grantaire. "Can we go see them? Just once? Please? They sound cool! I'll eat my vegetables and won't get arrested for a week!"

Éponine sighed, knowing that the pressure her little brother had added was going to make her give in. After all, her little bro was a handful on a good day, and he'd even said please for once. "Fine, fine. I'm not promising to go after this one time though."

"Yes!" Grantaire and Gavroche leapt up at the same time and high-fived. Éponine rolled her eyes and turned away from the two celebrating boys.

The artist led Gavroche back to his new room, showing him his new space. The room had painted chalkboard wall, and the rest were blue. A bed was raised in the air with a desk underneath. On the desk, there was a lamp, and a box of colored chalk with a chalkboard eraser, which Gavroche immediately picked up and shoved into Grantaire's hands. For the next few hours, Gavroche stared at the deep navy blue ceiling of his room, which was painted in constellations and comets with glow-in-the-dark paint, and told Grantaire about a scene in his head that the older man was to draw.

When the boy finally looked at the chalk drawing, he'd finished explaining every little thing. It was a detailed cityscape mixed with the colorful imagination only a child could think up. At the top, there were hawks and vultures in suits circling the skies and perching on the rooftops, glaring down at the city below. In the buildings, there were children in old fashioned black and white striped prison uniforms hanging out the windows. There were rats and feral cats in homeless mens' clothes roaming the streets. In the sewers, there was Gavroche sitting on an elephant-shaped throne of gold, an army of street urchin children at his command.

The boy grinned, showing rows of teeth with two gaps that revealed youth in his features. He climbed down from his bed, gazing at the picture with glee. He was interrupted from his reverie by Éponine called from the kitchen, "If you want to go to the meeting, we have to go now!"

Both boys dashed to the front room, pulling their shoes on and grabbing their coats. Éponine had changed clothes, into a turquoise sweater and a pair of skinny jeans with a pair of black Converse Chuck Taylor's. She looked over the chalk-dusted Grantaire, who was still wearing an old band t-shirt, a pair of dark jeans, and some dirty white Converse low-tops. Gavroche wore a grey t-shirt and a pair of military pants, a pair of brown boots were triple-knotted onto his feet by the time he was done with them.

Grantaire halted before he left the apartment and grabbed his sketchbook and a few pencils from what used to be used as a study, but was now his art studio. The three of them finally piled out the door and down the stairs. When they reached street-level, Grantaire bent down so Gavroche could hop on his back. The three of them chatted about when Gavroche would start school, something that Gav wasn't very happy to acknowledge.

Once they were in front of the Musain, Gavroche scrambled off of Grantaire's back and shoved his hands in his pockets so he'd look cool in front of the new people. Grantaire pulled open the door, letting the Thenardiers enter before him. A moment after the door shut, a collective cheer resounded throughout the Musain and Courfeyrac knocked down some chairs (and people) in his rush to hug Grantaire.

When Courf finally pulled away, Grantaire saw that nearly all of Les Amis was staring, and grinning, at them. Enjolras looked relieved, and had a small smile on his face. Strange though it was, it still made Grantaire's heart beat a little faster.

"Sit down and tell us about what you've been doing! That note you left didn't explain much," Bahorel yelled across the cafe.

The artist glanced askance at Enjolras, who nodded surprisingly eagerly, before guiding the Thenardiers to their seats, and setting his sketchbook down. A waitress who knew Grantaire set a beer in front of him and told him it was on the house, because they missed him. "Well, you know that we went to get Ép's little brother, so this is Gavroche. Call him Gav," Grantaire began.

"Was it hard to get custody? Was that why you were away so long?" Combeferre asked, concern in his voice.

"No, it was easy to get my parents to give him up, they aren't the caring type," Éponine answered. "I don't even think they remembered they had Gav. We visited with my little sis, Azelma, she's my mom's favorite. She's happy there, but I left her with mine and 'Taire's numbers in case she ever needed us around for something though."

"Where's Gav sleeping?" Feuilly asked, because as far as he could remember, they only had two bedrooms, a bathroom, Grantaire's studio, a living room, and a kitchen. There wasn't another place for him to sleep.

"Oh, we redid 'Taire's old room. 'Taire is sleeping with me now, since Social services need Gav to have a room of his own. We were gonna change R's studio into another bedroom, but we couldn't really do that, since he needs that space."

Enjolras's chest tightened as he thought of the two of them sharing a bed. He didn't really get why the thought made him want to scream and tear his hair out. But he kept his cool and quietly seethed with inexplicable anger.

"Who was the death in the family?" Joly asked, looking concerned that he's carried back some pathogen or has a hereditary disease he'll come into later in life.

"My little sister," Grantaire answered quietly, giving them an unconvincing half-smile that showed quite a large amount of pain and unwillingness to talk about it.

Needless to say, they let the subject drop.

"How was the beach?" Courfeyrac diverted.

"It was great!" Gavroche piped up. "The beach house was better than my old house, and 'Taire made this awesome sandcastle, and he taught me how to boogie board and it was amazing! The ocean was huge!"

"R's aunt has alway's been really supportive of him, and always helps him out with stuff. It wasn't surprising she'd let us use her beach house for a few days," Éponine said. "She's pretty rich, but she's not really fond of 'Taire's dad, so she doesn't come visiting a lot."

"Oh! 'Taire, Ép, Gav, we almost forgot. We'd like to introduce you to Musichetta, our new girlfriend. She works here some nights," Bossuet said, motioning to the voluptuous brunette who sat between him and Joly.

"It's nice to finally meet you guys," she said, smiling.

Grantaire and Éponine showed none of the initial confusion most people had when confronted with their polyamory, and Gavroche was too busy chattering excitedly to his new friend Courfeyrac, who was rambling back happily. They exchanged easy small talk until Musichetta decided to ask the question that everyone had been wanting to ask.

"Are you two together?"

"We-" Éponine began, but her phone went off, so she picked up and listened, answered with a "sure, I'll be there," then hung up. "Hey, 'Taire, Alyssa called us in for work because Clarence and Robbie just got fired because they were fucking in the storage closet."

"Shit, then we've got to go."

"Hey, can I hang out with Courf some more?" Gavroche asked, turning toward his sister with pleading eyes once again. It was strange how much Gav had taken to his new home, but it was also wonderful.

"Um, Courf, you cool with that? You can you take him home after the meeting too?" Éponine asked, "An extra key should be under the door mat."

"Sure, it'll be great," Courfeyrac responded enthusiastically.

Grantaire had his sketchbook in his hands and they were out the door a moment later. The question still unanswered, but strangely no one thought to ask Gavroche.


	6. The Chapter Where Grantaire Realizes That His Friends Are There For Him

Grantaire pushed back his curly bangs from his forehead, exhaling shakily as he strode quickly on the dark sidewalk. His paint-stained fingers trembled with a cocktail of anxiety, fury, and sadness. What he needed was company- loud, raucous company -that would drown out all of his messy emotions.

After all, he couldn't talk to anyone back at his apartment. Éponine had been called in to work that night after one of her coworkers at the movie theater quit suddenly, and she had to keep her phone off so she'd be attentive to the customers. And, well, Gavroche wasn't someone he felt he should spill his guts to, even if he was home that night. The kid was probably downtown scamming some poor tourists into giving him money.

When he opened the door to the Musain, the only place he felt like he could get his dose of loud noise, and the warmth of friends, it banged with a harsh noise he hadn't heard in a while. Grantaire shut it behind him and slumped into the corner of a booth silently, his fingers gripping the elbows of his coat tightly as if that was the only thing that was keeping him together. He bit his lip without really thinking about it, trying to distract his busy mind from his terrible day.

Musichetta approached him, ready for his usual order of alcohol. She'd laughed and joked with the artist ever since he'd reappeared, becoming one of the many members of waitstaff who was charmed by him. Grantaire waived her off, curling sideways into the seat, his feet up on the bench, and shut his eyes. He focused on the familiar sounds of laughter, haughty speeches, clinking of silverware, glasses, and bottles, and the sounds of chairs being pulled across a wood floor.

The Musain's sounds were those that Grantaire would love to record and play back as he fell asleep at night, or while he painted. The sounds, coupled with the warmth, the faux leather cushions on the wooden booth, and the comforting smells of alcohol and cooking food, were better than home to him. Easy.

While his mind was elsewhere, he didn't notice that the sounds of speeches and laughter had quieted as his friends turned their attention to him. He opened his eyes when he heard someone seat themselves on the bench seat across from him. Combeferre folded his hands on the table, leaning towards him slightly as he searched for the words to begin the conversation. After all, Les Amis hadn't seen Grantaire quite this affected, not even after a particularly bad argument with Enjolras. The artist mimicked the man sitting across from him, sitting up and fiddling with his hands on the table top.

"Are you sure you don't want a drink?" Combeferre asked.

"Are you sure you should be offering one to a drunk? That doesn't seem healthy," Grantaire replied shakily. "Besides, I shouldn't be drinking when I've had a bad day."

None of his friends had ever known him to turn down a drink, so his reply threw them for a moment. Enjolras sat beside Combeferre and leaned on the table slightly. "We can put the meeting on hold for a while, and you can tell us what's wrong, Grantaire," he said quietly, in a tender voice that Grantaire hadn't heard before.

"Why would-" The artist began, but was cut off by the blond.

"Because you're our friend," Enjolras replied.

Grantaire looked up at him suddenly, from where his eyes had been staring holes into his hands. They widened a little comically as his heart beat a tad faster. They were friends, Enjolras wasn't _disgusted_ by him.

"Okay," he nods slowly and slides his hands across the table, making small circles, as he thinks of how to begin.

"So first, I should say that today's my little sister's birthday. And, you know, she's dead now. So that...that brings down the level of happiness a day can bring from the get-go," Grantaire started, his voice cracking slightly as he bowed his head to hide his teary eyes from his friends.

"I woke up an hour late for class, because my alarm clock broke. When I was leaving, my bitch of a neighbor yelled at me for not saying 'Hi' to her Pomeranian, who has been blessed with the name 'Duke Archibald Woofers IV,' named so in absolute seriousness.

"Then my Classics professor screamed at me in front of the class, until he was red as a tomato, because I was late. After class, he held me back to yell at me again. Since he took his sweet time with that, I was late for work at the museum, so the curator threatened to fire me. And then, Halfway through a tour, this little brat almost wiped his snot on a Picasso, and his mom yelled at me when I made him stop," His voice squeaked a little, revealing his anger.

"On my way out of the museum, some hipster kid accidentally dumped their scalding coffee down my shirt then blamed me when they were the one who was on their phone updating their Twitter. Later, after I'd changed, I found out that the piece I'd been working on in my Painting class had neon green paint dumped on it by some idiot. My professor didn't even give a shit that the painting I'd been working on for two weeks had been ruined!"

Grantaire ran his fingers through his hair and put his head down on the table as he continued, "So now I'm incredibly stressed because I only have a week left to redo an entire painting. And to make matters worse, I've run out of cigarettes. Ép and I don't have enough money in the budget to buy a new pack, and I'm about to lose my mind without a bit of nicotine."

He whimpered as he finished, leaving a stunned silence in the cafe. Jehan settled into the seat next to Grantaire and took his hand, scrawling poetry and curling vines on the palm in a pen with purple ink. The feeling of the ball point swirling into his skin, as familiar as Jehan himself, made a bit of the tension in his shoulders relax.

"Hey, 'Chetta, can we smoke in here?" Bahorel called across the room. When the waitress gave a thumbs up, the boxer pulled a box of cigarettes out of his pocket and slid them across the table to Grantaire. "Hey, man, keep 'em and pay me back with a fight?"

Grantaire nodded and lit up, relaxing the rest of himself with the first drag. He exhaled, letting the smoke flow out of him before sucking in again. He glanced across the table, to where Enjolras was sitting, staring sympathetically back at him. It felt strange, but good, to have the good kind of attention from the young Poli Sci major.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My laptop's hinge broke so it's difficult to type on, so updates will probably become a bit slower.  
> As always, my url is loser-angel.tumblr.com  
> I follow back


	7. The Chapter Where Les Amis Go to an Art Gallery

Éponine paced back and forth on the marble floor, keeping an awareness of where her little brother was at all times. Currently, he was leaning dangerously close to a sculpture, his hand outstretched to grab hold of the compiled glass. She pulled her little brother away from it, forcing him to sit in a chair by the wall, threatening him with no TV time for a month if he touched anything.

It was nearly eight, so close to opening time, and no one had shown up to the gallery for Grantaire's exhibition. He'd had several art shows before, at smaller galleries, or ones a few towns over, but never in such a famous gallery, or with art he'd worked so hard on.

Grantaire had promised Éponine that he'd invite Les Amis, who'd become his closest friends in the months since he'd met them. She wanted them to prove to Grantaire that he wasn't a complete mess, that he had value. She knew they'd come, of course they would, because after being dragged along to so many of their meetings, they'd become Éponine's friends too. She knew they'd do anything for their friends.

The artist was leaning against a column, arms crossed. Eponine had forced him and Gavroche into suits and ties. Gav was wearing a striped bowtie, emulating Courfeyrac, and Grantaire was wearing a green tie. Both boys looked grumpy that they were even there, but Eponine sent them a ferocious glare, halting any possible new protestations. She'd already heard them all.

Éponine stopped in front of Grantaire and asked, clearly frustrated, "You did invite them, right?"

She'd asked him that five times already, but this time he decided to tell the truth with a resigned sigh. "No."

"Why the hell not?" Éponine nearly screeched.

"I doubt they'd really want to wake up early on a weekend just to look at my crappy art," he mumbled.

"Your art is beautiful, 'Taire."

He kicked at the floor and shook his head, "Not good enough to show them. Some of the people I know from work, the gym, and just around are coming though."

The brunette made an aggravated groan and extracted her phone from her purse as she turned and stomped a few feet away. She then typed out a mass text, including all members of Les Amis, and Musichetta.

**To: _Marius, Combeferre, Enjolras, Courfeyrac, Jehan, Bahorel, Feuilly, Joly, Bossuet, Musichetta_**

**Everyone get up get dressed in some nice clothes and get to the gallery on 23rd and Elm. NOW!!! Don't question me, just go.**

**From: _Éponine_  **

The older Thenardier child turned back to Grantaire quickly, grabbing the front of his shirt roughly. "Now, you are going to stay right here and welcome everyone who walks through that door," she pointed at the glass double doors, "or God help me I will-"

"Okay!" Grantaire squeaked.

Éponine let go of his shirt, smoothing and straightening it as she calmed. "Gav and I are going to wait outside for everyone. Talk to the curator's daughter if you get bored."

The curator, Monsieur Fauchelevent, let his daughter hang around and help with the relations part of the job. She was a pretty, but plain, blonde girl, who'd just entered college. Grantaire had visited often in preparation for the day, and the two of them had become good friends. Cosette was very supportive of his art, and had promised to model for him whenever he wanted. The girl was talking to an old woman near the front door, telling her she could enter in a few minutes.

The brunette grabbed Gavroche and the two of them got out of there, stopping on the sidewalk a few feet from the building. Fifteen minutes later, Feuilly and Bahorel tumbled out of a taxi in front of the gallery. Feuilly in kacki pants and a light yellow dress shirt, and Bahorel in a pair of navy blue dress pants and a white dress shirt. Both of them looked like they'd just rolled out of bed.

They were about to ask what was going on, but then they took in the sight of Éponine in her black pencil skirt and tourquoise draped blouse, and Gavroche in his smart little suit and perfectly combed hair looking like he wanted to roll around in dirt. Éponine pulled them away from the edge of the sidewalk as the taxi drove off, making them lean against the building with her little brother.

"No words, wait 'til everyone else is here, and I'll explain," she said, holding a warning finger up to both of them.

"But-" Bahorel began, but was promptly hushed by a stormy glare.

Courfeyrac and Jehan approached next, Courf's arm slung around Jehan's shoulders while they walked down the sidewalk. The poet was obviously wearing some of Courf's clothes, because they looked slightly too big, but at least he wasn't wearing floral pants and a neon yellow sweater. He wore a pink dress shirt, a green tie, and a pair of kackis, while his boyfriend wore a white dress shirt, and a black sports coat that matched his black pants.

Courf high-fived the beaming Gavroche when the boy got within a few feet. Gavroche gave them Eponine's little spiel about not talking, and they'll explain soon and let them lean against the building. Bahorel and Feuilly began playing Rock-Paper-Scissors and thumb wrestling to pass the time.

Éponine paced, wringing her hands nervously. It was eight-thirty, and some somewhat familiar faces were passing by the group and entering the gallery. They were mostly dressed nicely, with the exception of one or two, who might have been homeless people Grantaire had treated to a drink one day. There were people from the gym, and waitresses and chefs from his favorite restaurants, an old couple he'd sketched in the park, a few children (accompanied by their parents) who attended his free art class at the local community center, and a few girls who looked like they could be prostitutes.

That was when Joly, Musichetta, and Bossuet tumbled out of Joly's beaten down car. The car's engine wheezed one last time before cutting off, and everyone's attention lay on the three who'd exited. Joly and Bossuet wore identical rumpled blue Polo shirts and kackis, and Musichetta wore a red polka-dotted black cocktail dress. Bahorel gave them the short speech this time, and the three of them lined up against the wall.

Ten minutes later, a grumpy-looking Enjolras and Combeferre got out of a cab. Enjolras wore a black suit, white shirt, red tie, and Combeferre wore an almost identical outfit, except his tie was navy blue and yellow striped.

"What are we doing here?" Enjolras asked, looking like he really wished he could be doing something else with his morning, like sleeping, or overthrowing the government.

Courfeyrac dragged them over to the wall as Éponine stood in front of them all seriously. "Okay, so this place is some kind of famous art gallery, and they asked 'Taire to do a show for them. So 'Taire's best stuff is in there right now, and he's being mopey because he doesn't think he deserves to be here, which is complete bullshit because he's amazing."

Jehan's eyes widened with glee, then softened with confusion, "Why didn't he invite us?"

"He doesn't want to disappoint you guys, because you guys are really great friends. He's being an idiot. Just go in there, look around, and tell him he's amazing, because he won't believe me," she said, sounding exasperated.

Éponine led Les Amis inside the glass doors, letting them spread out across the gallery. Everyone showing obvious excitement and awe at every new piece they laid eyes on. Grantaire holds back, watching them scan each painting, each sculpture, holding conversation with one of the girls who looked like a prostitute. They were laughing, and obviously gossiping about something.

There's a portrait of Éponine at home, thrown over the armchair with a remote in her hand. She's upside-down, her legs splayed over the back and arm of the seat. Her dark hair draped over her too-big black Metallica t-shirt and the chair. She didn't wear pants, just a pair of red panties.

Next was a painting of Jehan, curled up against a tree in the fall. There's an anthology of poems in one hand, and a cup of tea in a disposable cup in the other. Flowers were in his braided hair, and all in his lap, as he read.

Then of Musichetta flirting with Joly and Bossuet across the counter at the Musain. Her eyebrow was quirked, her smile flirty and safe. Her boys look like she was their warmth in a world of cold, eyes wide and reverent, but also joking and immensely happy that she's there. Musichetta's hair was tied up in a messy bun, but her bangs hung loose across her face.

Then there's Gavroche on a beach, sitting on an elephant's back. The elephant has Indian blankets on it's back, it's tusks tossed wildly. Gavroche looked strong, proud, like a hero, as he sat there holding a glowing sword aloft.

A painting of Courfeyrac and Combeferre comes next, showing the two of them leaned over a laptop, a map and several papers littering the table as they plot. In the background, you can see the vague figures of the rest of Les Amis hanging out at the Musain. Combeferre's glasses were almost falling off his nose, his eyes slightly squinted and analytical. Courf looked like he was ready to start a riot.

Éponine teared up and hid her face when she saw a large canvas depicting a girl in her early teens, sitting on wooden stairs, and crying. Her hair was curly and the exact shade of dark brown that Grantaire's was. Her eyes were red and puffy from sobbing, her cheeks wet, her lips parted in a cry out to anyone who would hear her. She clutched a piece of paper to her chest desperately as she folded in on herself. The girl's teary blue-gray eyes seemed to be searching for something outside the canvas.

Some of Les Amis stopped and gaped at the picture of the girl, glancing down at the title card that merely listed Grantaire's name, when he finished it, and " _Antionette_ ". Jehan looked helplessly between where Grantaire was talking animatedly to the prostitute, and the picture of who could be his little sister. No one said anything though, they just moved on. They didn't want to ruin the artist's light mood by asking about Antionette.

After passing a few sculptures of random women and men, a coffee cup made of broken shards of wine bottles, and a painting of a girl who looked like a younger Éponine wearing a wolf pelt, they reached the main part of the exhibition.

The canvas was huge, 8'x8', covered in messy, oily, sooty blacks, bloody reds, vibrant yellows, royal golds, and a startling blue. It was Enjolras, in his favorite red jacket with the tricolor patch on the chest by the heart. He was speaking to the observer, angry, justified, and beautiful. His hair was held back in a pony tail, his eyes flashing with the kind of fury that you wanted to get behind. The painting's depiction nearly glowed with the angelic figure.

It was the best painting, in Enjolras's opinion. So he stared at it for a long time, a while after his friends had walked on, or left. Eventually, Grantaire approached, nervous that the painting somehow offended it's subject. After a moment of silence, Enjolras merely murmurs, "Thank you." Grantaire nods slowly, and walks away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me at loser-angel.tumblr.com  
> Sorry for taking so long to update!


	8. The Chapter Where Grantaire Disappears

Grantaire got a text while he was relaxing on the couch one night with Éponine. Gavroche was already asleep in the armchair, exhausted from running around downtown with his followers all day. The artist glanced at the phone that he'd dug out of his pocket, then stood and headed to the coat rack by the door.

"I'm heading out, okay?" He called to the girl who was drowsily watching some weird sitcom.

"Where?" She mumbled, snuggling into a pillow.

"To a bar to meet some friends."

"When are you coming back?"

"Maybe later tonight, maybe tomorrow morning if I get lucky," he answered, a playful hint in his voice.

"You'll prob'ly end up fant'sizing 'bout dear 'Pollo and c'ming back," Éponine mumbled.

Grantaire shrugged, even though she couldn't see, and answered, "I might as well get drunk anyway."

"Be safe!" The brunette called, wiggling under her quilt.

Grantaire responded with his obligatory "I will," and headed out, pulling his leather jacket on as he left the building.

* * *

Éponine woke up late the next morning, tiredly pulling herself up and off the couch. Gavroche wasn't in the armchair, so she called out for him once, then checked the kitchen counter they usually left notes for each other. He'd gone out with a few of his friends who'd come calling around eleven, and planned to be back for dinner. He'd call her with the prepaid cell phone she'd made him promise to take with him when he went out, if he needed her help in any way. There was no note from Grantaire, so he hadn't been home.

"'Taire?" She yelled into the empty apartment, checking their room and his studio to see if he was there, but was just wearing his headphones. He wasn't.

Éponine frowned as she walked back to the living room and picked her phone from the remains of snack food bags and containers they'd eaten their way through the previous night. She hit his number on her speed dial and listened for the ring.

Instead of ringing, there was a three tone sound and a woman's voice saying, "I'm sorry, the number you have dialed is not in service at this time. Please dial a new number or try again." There was an edge of worry that prodded at the pit of her stomach, but she decided to ignore it, after all, he was probably fine.

Gavroche came home around five, and Éponine had already made dinner. Grantaire still hadn't returned, so she put his portion of the spaghetti in a plastic container in the fridge. This went on for three more days, with Gavroche asking where Grantaire was every time he started a new conversation, and Éponine replying that she had no clue. They saved his meals, and kept his things clean, but still hadn't told anyone. The younger Thenardier had been out searching each day since the disappearance, with the aid of his many young friends, but no luck.

The night of the next Les Amis meeting, Gavroche convinced Éponine to ask for their help. Les Amis could probably do something, at the very least offer some comfort to the rising tide of fear and loneliness. So the girl let her younger brother lead the way, tugging her along by her hand, and open the door for her like a little gentleman.

Jehan approached with nothing but bright smiles, greeting the two of them like someone always does. The strawberry-blond glanced behind them, searching momentarily for the curly-haired artist. That was when Éponine started to cry. Sobs were soon joined by tears and hiccups as she wrapped her arms around her body, trying to hold herself together. Jehan didn't understand what was happening, but he soon enveloped her in a hug, letting her bury her face in the crook of his neck as she gasped for air. Gavroche looked pityingly at his sister.

"Shhh...darling what's wrong?" Jehan asked quietly, stroking her hair as she clung to his flowery sweater. The rest of Les Amis had come to attention, gathering around the girl with confusion, but ready to fight for her in any way they possibly could. They'd suddenly realized she was a lot smaller than she seemed, with her large "I will hurt you if you touch the people I love" attitude.

"'Taire...'Taire hasn't been home since Monday night, and...and his phone isn't in service...and I don't know where he is. What if something happened to him? He always tells me if he's going to be away," she managed to gasp out, wiping her ruined makeup from her eyes, her eyes wide with fear.

"Did you see him leave?" Combeferre asked, walking closer to provide something steady to focus on.

"Yeah, he was going out to drink, he was going to meet some friends there I think," she answered as Combeferre and Jehan helped her settle in a chair, the rest of Les Amis crowding her into a protective circle. Gavroche sat next to Courfeyrac, who had a reassuring hand on the young boy's shoulder.

"What time was this?" Enjolras asked, seating himself next to Combeferrre, and across from Éponine and Jehan.

"I don't know," she answered helplessly, "I mean, I remember Gav was asleep, and we were watching some cheesy sitcom on TV. It was dark outside...I'd guess maybe midnight?"

"Did he do anything out of the ordinary before he left?" Enjolras asked, his hands clasped as he leaned on the table. The blond was trying to hide the tremor in his hands as his mind flashed through stills of Grantaire in pain, Grantaire dead, Grantaire in a gutter.

"I don't think so. I mean, he did get a text from someone before he left, but I think that was just one of his friends from somewhere. I can't keep track of them all, he makes new ones whenever he goes off on one of his escapades," she replied.

"Do you know where he might have gone to drink?" Combeferre questioned.

"No, I mean, for God's sake, 'Taire knows this city like the back of his hand. He hangs out with hookers one day, and art snobs the next. He's been everywhere, knows the best places to do everything, and he's unpredictable whenever he goes out," Éponine squeaked. Musichetta sat a tall glass of beer in front of the teary girl, who put her hand on her purse worryingly, but the waitress waived it off saying it was on the house.

"How about we call all the police precincts and hospitals in the city, to see if anyone's picked him up. Unless you're Grantaire's emergency contact...?" Combeferre looked at her for confirmation.

Éponine shook her head, "No, it's still 'Taire's parents."

"Would they contact you if-?" Courfeyrac asked, leaning forward.

"No. Last time I checked, they were all on bad terms. I think if they got a call about 'Taire, they'd let him rot wherever he is," she mumbled.

After she finished speaking, the rest of Les Amis contracted an air of protective ferocity of their drunk. They all pried their phones out of their pockets and took a few steps away, getting connected to police stations and hospitals. Éponine watched as her friends took the calls, some getting angry with some officers, or receptionists that mumbled. The brunette merely curled into her chair and nursed her beer.

"Found him!" Jehan yelled, making everyone hang up and listen as he spoke to the receptionist on speaker phone.

"So Grantaire's there?" Feuilly asked into the open air.

"Yes, we have one "Grantaire" in our care at the moment. I'm glad that someone finally called about him, truth be told," a woman's voice answered.

"Why?" Joly croaked, images of a broken and bandaged Grantaire in a sterile hospital bed dizzying him.

"Well he's been here since very early Tuesday morning. We contacted his parents, who were listed as emergency contacts on his medical records we got from the police, but..."

"Go on," Enjolras prodded.

"Well, I was the one who made the call. And I got his mother on the phone. The woman apologized to me repeatedly that they couldn't come see him, then begged me not to call again. He didn't have anyone else to call, so we've just been waiting."

"Waiting for what? He should have told you to call us," Courfeyrac demanded.

There was a deep sigh as the receptionist continued, "He probably would have, but his injuries were very severe. He hasn't been coherent enough since he called the paramedics himself."

"Where was he found, what happened?" Éponine screeched.

"He was found on the sidewalk on an abandoned street on the outskirts of the city. The paramedics said it looked like he'd crawled out of the alley, because of the bloodstains. He was beaten pretty badly."

"Can we come see him?" Enjolras questioned.

"Visiting hours are over in fifteen minutes, I'm sorry. They begin again at eight tomorrow morning. Oh- I'm sorry, I have to go, we're a bit busy tonight. I'm sorry that you can't see your friend," the woman said sympathetically before hanging up.

All were quiet for a few moments before Enjolras rose and took a deep breath. His fingernails bit into his palm so he would show as little of his roiling inner pain to the group. "Okay, so how about we all meet tomorrow at the hospital, ten minutes before visiting hours. Éponine and Gavroche will get first visitation," he nodded to the two of them respectively. Éponine looked thankful, and Gavroche nodded back respectfully. Everyone else showed their agreement in one way or another, and then the meeting broke as some went to drink off their worries, talk in quiet conversation, or go home.

* * *

 The next morning, Éponine gripped her brother's hand tightly as they stood in the waiting room. Gav winced as she squeezed a little too hard, but still held her hand back. She was reeling and terrified for her dear friend, so her brother was ready to put on the brave face he always knew and comfort her. The rest of Les Amis were spread out across the small room, piled into uncomfortable chairs and glaring scornfully at the terrible magazines laid out across the tables.

A nurse approached and asked sweetly, "Are you here for Grantaire?"

When everyone gave an affirmative, she said, "Only two can go back at a time. Who wants to go first."

"Us," Éponine said quietly, stepping closer to the woman in pink scrubs. The nurse led the two Thenardiers back to Grantaire's room, then left them alone.

Éponine sat next to the bed, and Gavroche next to her. Grantaire was hooked to an IV, and his head and chest were covered in bandages. He smiled softly as he looked at his two room mates, taking a deep, tired breath.

"Hi," he said, his voice cracking.

"Oh, 'Taire, what happened?" Éponine asked, her voice crumbling under her emotions.

"Someone just...attacked me I guess. I don't remember much of it."

"Are you okay?" Gavroche asked, picking at the hospital blankets, keeping his eyes glued to the bed, not Grantaire or the machines.

"It was bad these past few days, but it's been getting better. I feel great compared to before," he chuckled darkly.

"Why couldn't you call us?" Éponine asked, wringing her hands.

"My phone..." The man nodded toward the side table, where the phone lay. When she checked, Éponine found that it was dead. "They couldn't find a charger for it, surprisingly, and I couldn't remember your number at the time."

"Do you know when you'll be released?" Éponine quietly, her eyes searching her friend's.

"The day after next, Ép, and I'll be home again. I promise I'll be fine," Grantaire answered, picking her hand up off of the bed and kissing her knuckles softly. The Thenardiers stayed with him for another half hour, before leaving to let some of his other friends visit. The artist was going to be okay. After all, he promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My URL is loser-angel.tumblr.com


	9. The Chapter Where Grantaire Not-So-Subtly Changes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for not posting for months! I've already had the chapter written, but I couldn't get to it. My only laptop died on me and I had to work all summer to save up enough to buy a new one, and then I had to get my step-cousin to recover my files from my old one. So I'm back! Just in time for school...

When Grantaire's allowed to go home, his friends make a big deal out of it. They have a little party at Éponine and Grantaire's apartment, with cake and a ridiculous amount of streamers and balloons. But the man brushed past them and shut himself inside his studio, turned on some loud music, and ignored the party. Éponine looked shocked that he didn't appreciate it, but let the others celebrate the release of her friend in the living room.

A few hours later, Grantaire emerged from the studio with paint smears all across his body. He looked exhausted, yet pleased, as he walked past his staring friends and into the kitchen. The artist raided the fridge for a bottle of vodka and took a long swig, then sighed with a satisfied smile.

"Hey, 'Taire! We're watching The Avengers, it's your favorite right? Come watch with us!" Courfeyrac offered, waving him over toward the cuddle pile.

Grantaire merely shook his head, retreated back into his studio, and blasted his music again. Éponine bit her lip, but remained silent in her worries. Her friend was okay, alive, and home. He just needed some alone time.

* * *

 

Over the next week, Grantaire stopped going to the gym or to class. He cancelled his sparring session with Bahorel and his fencing session with Jehan. He called in sick to his dance and gymnastics classes. The artist started destroying whatever he finished since he got home, paintings ending up torn to bits or burnt. He went out drinking instead of attending Les Amis' meeting, not giving Éponine any details on where he was going to be and for how long.

That night, when Grantaire and Éponine lay in bed, the artist got up and left their bedroom. Éponine, who he'd presumed to be asleep, sat up and opened the door silently, listening for what he was doing. Grantaire had walked to the kitchen and was on the phone with someone, pacing behind the island.

"I'll come visit tomorrow, but I have to be home by night.... No, I know... I'm not trying to! I swear, I'll be there... Yeah, I haven't. Don't worry... Bye." Grantaire said, exhaling shakily as he hung up.

He walked back to the bedroom, catching Éponine in the doorway. "What's up?" She asked, concerned by his scowl.

"Nothing, I just have to go somewhere tomorrow."

"Really? To do what?" She asked as they padded over to their respective sides of the bed.

"To see some people, I'm gonna need the car. That okay?" He asked, looking at her briefly, a peak of nervousness in his eyes.

"Yeah, sure, I can get Combeferre to give me a ride to work tomorrow," She answered as the slipped under the blankets.

"Oh, _Combeferre_ , huh?" Grantaire insinuated, waggling his eyebrows playfully.

" _Shut up_ ," Éponine murmured as her cheeks blushed. "He'd never be interested in me."

"I don't know, he seems plenty interested to me. He's just too shy to advance too much. Try flirting with him blatantly, you can always play it off as nothing if he _really_ doesn't seem interested," he advised.

"Thanks 'Taire," she mumbled as she fell asleep.

"Goodnight, Ép," her best friend whispered back.

* * *

 

The next day, Éponine woke up at nine, yawning and stretching as she sat up. The bed was cold and empty, and so was the rest of the apartment. Grantaire and Gavroche had already left. Grantaire to who-knows-where, and Gav...well he was probably conning some tourists out of some cash by playing up the fake, sad, sick orphan story.

Éponine picked up her cell phone after finishing her breakfast of Lucky Charms and called Combeferre. Her fingers fidgeted as she listened to the ringing. When it picked up, she asked, "Hello, Combeferre?"

"Éponine, good morning. What can I do for you?" Came the man's polite response.

"Grantaire took the car this morning, so I was wondering if you could drive me to work this morning?"

"He's not going to be back in time for your shift at the coffee shop today?"

"I don't think so, he was really vague about where he was going, and how long he was staying away. That idiot..." She chuckled briefly, but returned her focus to the man on the phone soon after. "Anyway, can you?"

"Yes, I think I can spare the time. Your shift is at noon, correct?"

"Yeah, it is. And when we're there, I'll make you a complimentary drink to compensate."

"There's no need-" He began.

Éponine cut him off by saying, "Live a little 'Ferre. Let a girl spoil you, okay?"

"Okay. Will you need a ride home too?" Combeferre asked.

"Probably, are you offering?" She flirted.

"Yes, I should think so," he answered.

"Then how about we go out to dinner after?" Éponine suggested.

"Will Grantaire be okay with that?" Combeferre asked cautiously.

"It's not like 'Taire and I are dating," she laughed like it was obvious, but the man on the other end left an embarrassed silence. "...Wait, did you think we were?"

"Well, to be honest, you two do present yourselves in that sort of intimate way."

"Do the others think so too?"

"They've placed bets on what you two are to each other."

She burst into laughter, "Oh god, just the thought of 'Taire and I together...it's crazy! Never once have we been anything like that, 'Ferre."

"Oh... _good_."

"Good?"

"Good," he confirmed.

"So are we on for dinner?" She questioned.

"It's a date," Combeferre answered.

* * *

 

Within the next couple of weeks, Éponine watched as her friend became more reclusive and possibly depressed. His eyes lost their joking glint as he hid away in his studio most days, canceling on his friends constantly and ignoring all meetings. Whenever he heard that Les Amis were coming over for one reason or another, Grantaire would find a reason to leave. He stayed away from her more too, deciding to sleep on the couch in his studio instead of in their bedroom.

Even worse was the fact that he seemed to eat less and less. Never starving, but his portions got smaller and he wouldn't snack as often as he did. He was becoming skinnier beneath his clothes. And then there was the lack of sleep from the long hours he'd spend in his studio. He never allowed Éponine in the room, and he spent little time in the rest of the apartment.

Grantaire disappeared every Saturday, coming back around dinner time. He was always exhausted afterwards, curling up in their bed and falling asleep without eating. He'd wake up around ten and eat then, still looking like he could sleep for a week. Éponine worried in silence, because every time she'd asked what was up, Grantaire had blown her off.

* * *

 

One Saturday night, Gav was sleeping over at a friend's house, and she was hanging out with Les Amis at Combeferre and Enjolras's apartment, Éponine was tucked up under Combeferre's arm. They'd dated casually, but a few days prior, Combeferre had asked if she could be his girlfriend. Éponine gladly agreed, and by doing so she let everyone's mind ease as she let them know exactly what her and Grantaire were to each other. The best of friends and nothing more. Enjolras himself was the most relieved.

As they watched a movie, Éponine's phone made the Kim Possible alert noise, the one specially set for Grantaire's phone calls. She stood and walked to the kitchen, where she took the call. "Hey, 'Taire, what is it?"

"Hello?" A woman's voice asked in a near-whisper.

"Who is this?"

"This is Grantaire's mother," said the whispering woman.

"And why do you have his phone?" Éponine asked.

"He's been visiting every Saturday. You need to come pick him up now, _please_." She said desperately.

"Why, is he bothering you?" She demanded fiercely, ready to back her friend to his mother.

"No, but you need to get him the hell away from here. Please, you're his friend, you need to do what I always couldn't, and that's what's best for him," the woman answered tearfully.

"What are you talking about?"

"I can't watch my husband do this anymore, it's not right. Bring some people with you, please hurry," the mother said urgently, then hung up.

Éponine walked back to the living room and stood in front of the television, blocking her friends view of Star Trek: Into Darkness. "We've got to get 'Taire, so I need some of you to come with me."

"Where is he?" Combeferre asked, standing.

"Apparently, his parents' house," she answered.

"I thought you said he and his parents don't get along."

"They don't, the last time I checked. But his mother just called me begging me to take Grantaire away, because his dad has been doing something to him. I'm a little scared, and very worried, so can you please drive me over?" She asked, her voice wavering a little as she spoke. She hated how weak she sounded at the thought of her best friend being in even more pain.

A moment later, Enjolras, Bahorel, Courfeyrac, and Jehan stood up. The others were about to stand, but Enjolras waved them off. "It might be better if we don't all show up," he said.

Éponine nodded in agreement, "We might need the car space to get Grantaire away. We need to prepare for the worst."

"We'll take my van!" Bahorel announced, holding his keys aloft.

The group that was going filed out of the apartment and piled into the van, promising to call the others when they knew more. Éponine directed Bahorel from the passenger seat, letting Combeferre rest his hands on her shoulders for a little comfort. About an hour later, they reached a partially run-down home on the edge of the suburbs. The garden is untended, the grass pale yellow, shingles falling off, rusty metal railings, cracked windows...so many problems with the little white house that could have been the American dream ten years ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! My URL is loser-angel.tumblr.com


	10. The Chapter Where the Cavalry Arrives

Éponine stood before the door, the boys flanking her. Enjolras stood closest, ready to enter and save Grantaire from whatever his mother had deemed important enough to call about. The blond glared at the door like it had personally offended him, and it sort of had. After all, it stood between him and the man he...had some secret affection for. He watched as the brunette knocked lightly, her shoulders squared with confidence, but her hands fisted and shaking beside her.

The door opened a few inches, a familiar eye peering out briefly before the door was flung open to reveal a middle-aged woman. The thin woman gripped Éponine's forearms and collapsed against the girl, sobbing into her hair. Enjolras's heart twisted as her watched those strikingly cobalt eyes tear up, her long, curly dark hair spilling across her shoulders and back rippling as her body shook. This stricken woman was Grantaire's mother, obviously.

"Th-they're in the basement! Please, stop him!" The woman choked out between her sobs.

Enjolras led Bahorel, Courfeyrac, and Jehan past the front door, breezing through the first floor, searching for the door that led to the basement. Combeferre and Éponine stayed behind to console the woman and help her into the kitchen, which was near the back of the house. Enjolras paused briefly in front of the wooden stairs, the painting of the girl crying from the gallery coming to his mind. Jehan called out when her reached a door where he could just barely hear noise behind.

The poet opened the door, staring down the steep wooden staircase that veered left on the bottom platform. The rest of the group gathered around, and Enjolras once again went first as they walked down the stairs, the noises getting louder as they descended. Enjolras was greeted with the sight of a burly, balding man in a stained white t-shirt  holding Grantaire up and against the wall by his hair, using his other hand to beat his son further.

Grantaire's eyes were shut, as was his mouth. His clothes were bloody, his skin bruised, but his face was clear, making it clear that he was only injured in places where his clothes could hide. Only a few quiet grunts and whimpers were his responses to the beating, as he was obviously making an effort to silence himself. The older man, whose nose and stature resembled the son whom he was beating, spoke only loud enough that Grantaire could hear, rendering him inaudible to Les Amis.

When Grantaire whimpered after a sickening crack against his rib cage, Enjolras shook of his moment of frozen awe and anguish to pull the man away from the artist. Bahorel broke soon after, rushing to help pin the father to the ground as Jehan and Courfeyrac swept the injured son away and up the stairs. Enjolras knocked the man's head against the floor, getting in a few brutal punches in the process. The father was unconscious, allowing the two students to ascend the staircase and lock the man down there. Enjolras shook his hands, taking a breath as the pain in his knuckles ebbed away. He knew he should probably get an ice pack, or he'd be useless for a little while.

They grouped with the rest in the kitchen, watching as Combeferre and Éponine cleaned and bandaged Grantaire's body in adjacent living room. Eponine was crying, her body shaking as she wiped sweat and blood from her best friend's chest with a washcloth. Grantaire lay only in his boxer-briefs, and not-quite unconscious, but dazed and out of commission, on the couch. Enjolras nursed his already bruising knuckles with an ice pack, after all he'd really whaled into Grantaire's father. Jehan sat holding the mother's hands in the kitchen, speaking soothing words to her as Courfeyrac heated soup for whoever wanted it.

"I'm so sorry," the mother weeped, gripping Jehan's hands tightly.

"Ma'am, it's okay, I know. You called us, you did good," the poet whispered to her.

"No, it's not okay. I'll never forgive myself for letting that bastard do this to my baby. Never forgive him for ruining my babies lives... Oh Grantaire... My sweet Antionette... Why didn't I call anyone sooner?" She sobbed.

"How was Antionette hurt?" Jehan asked cautiously.

"I didn't notice," she whimpered. "I didn't see it when he started to hurt her... She wouldn't have hung herself if I hadn't been so blind."

Her words hung in the air; Jehan, Courfeyrac, and Enjolras stared wide-eyed at her. The blond sat next to her, to stop looming in the doorway, blown away by the sheer sadness in the house. Jehan tried to think of something to say, but he was struck silent.

"If only I hadn't been so useless. If only I'd been a better mother," she cried.

* * *

 

Hours later, after they'd fed Grantaire's mother and the artist had regained clarity, they were ready to leave. His mother, whom after calming herself, insisted on being called Josephina , stayed by her son's side. She apologized to him repeatedly, but he waved off every one, murmuring to her every once in a while that everything was okay, and that he loved her. She affectionately kissed his cheeks and knuckles, promising a divorce and restraining orders, cursing her husbands name.

Grantaire was smiling as his mother gathered her coat and a few suitcases worth of things she needed. She was leaving the house, but told Grantaire of her plans to take everything from the unconscious man in the basement in her divorce settlement. The dark-haired man was practically beaming as she kissed his cheeks goodbye, promising to call him once she reached his aunts, and promising to keep in touch. Josephina flew out of the house like a whirl-wind, driving off in her husband's prized Cadillac.

The man walked through the house, stopping in front of the stairs. He was acutely aware of the seven pairs of eyes following him as he climbed the stairs. The artist came back down after a few minutes, holding a couple of cardboard boxes. He set them on the kitchen table and yawned.

"Can you guys carry this stuff to the car for me? I'm feeling a bit tired," he asked, looking a bit wobbly on his feet.

Immediately, Bahorel and Courfeyrac picked took the surprisingly heavy boxes and led the way back to the car. Éponine, Combeferre, and Bahorel hopped into the car that Éponine and Grantaire shared, the rest climbed into Bahorel's van. Enjolras sat in the back, then beckoned Grantaire to sit next to him. The artist ended up asleep with his head on the revolutionary's lap, a fleece blanket thrown over him. Jehan drove, with Courf in shotgun, both of them trying to hide their little giggles as they watched their leader smooth the artist's hair.

* * *

 

Grantaire woke up in a bed, blankets twisted around his restless legs. Sitting up, he carded his fingers through his mess of dark curls and looked around. He was back in the apartment, alone in the bedroom, but he could still hear the noise of his friends in the living room. His body hurt, and he knew why, and so did every one of the visitors in his living room.

The words his father had drilled into his head echoed loudly around his head. They knew now what his father could see in him. He was useless, a waste of space. Grantaire couldn't keep himself together, and his family was falling apart because he was too weak, stupid, and selfish to stop it. It was all his fault. All because he left home.

As his mind whirled, he gritted his teeth and tried to even his breathing, focusing on what was real. The pain in his hands from when his father had stomped on his hands, those hands that had done the unthinkable by pursuing art instead of something _useful_ , now that was real. They hurt more when Gra ntaire gripped the blankets tightly, trying desperately to calm the ache in his chest.

His friends wouldn't hate him. They wouldn't care that he was useless and sickening. They knew how to deal with his character by now. They overlooked his bad choices. Les Amis would ignore his faults, and none of them had to know that for weeks his mind had chanted _useless, worthless, stupid, foolish, ugly, selfish, revolting, sickening, shit stain..._ Words his father had slowly inflicted upon his battered mind.

Wobbly as he was, he didn't want to be alone anymore. He didn't have to hide the injuries and pain anymore. Grantaire could see them again without fear, so he slowly crawled out of bed and opened the bedroom door. The artist peaked his head out of the door, squinting against the bright light from the kitchen down the hall.

The living room went quiet when they heard the door creak open. Éponine called from the living room, "'Taire?"

Grantaire cautiously shuffled into the living room, to where Les Amis had initiated a cuddle pile. Éponine clawed her way out, picking her way across the living room to hug him. He buried his face in her neck and let his arms encircle her waist. Eponine didn't speak as she smoothed his hair and led him over to the pile. She sat between Combeferre and Grantaire, holding each of their hands. They all resumed their noisy viewing of Iron Man, except for Enjolras who discreetly let his eyes flick over to the artist every minute or so.

When the movie finished, Bahorel declared that they were going to watch My Little Pony: Friendship is magic. Éponine hands Grantaire his sketchbook when he asks for it, and he begins the soft outlines of his mother's face. "Did my mom call?" He asked quietly.

She nodded and told him that his mother had worked it out so she was going to be staying at his aunt's vacation home for a while, and that his parents were divorcing. She patted his knee, with him not looking up once, before she hopped up and began rummaging around the kitchen to find him something to eat for breakfast. Enjolras took her seat between Combeferre and Grantaire and watched the artist draw. Silence was easy when most of the twenty-somethings in the room were enraptured by Twilight Sparkle's adventures in Equestria.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My URL is loser-angel.tumblr.com


	11. The Chapter Where Grantaire Explains Everything

After breakfast, everyone was lazing around uselessly. It was Sunday, and to Les Amis, that meant relaxation. So everyone was sprawled across the furniture and floor, talking over the television, which was still playing My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. Grantaire lay on the couch, his head in Éponine’s lap while she played with his hair. Combeferre sat against Éponine’s legs, with Enjolras beside him. He was discreetly trying not to stray too far from the artist, but making it look like he was just hanging out with Combeferre.

Silence reigned amongst them, and all that could be heard was Rainbow Dash freaking out about Daring Do. Then Combeferre broke the quiet by finally asking the question on everyone's mind. "What's been going on recently Grantaire?"

Éponine stiffened, fearing that her friend was going to shut down on them, but he merely closed his eyes and exhaled slowly before speaking. "It's kind of a long story."

"'Taire, hun, we'll listen if you want to tell us. We won't push you though," Jehan said from where he was sat across Courfeyrac's lap in the armchair.

The curly-haired man nodded, scrubbing at his face with his fists. All was quiet as Les Amis positioned themselves better to listen to Grantaire's story. Bahorel and Feuilly crawled forward to sit a few feet from Combeferre and Enjolras, to the right of the coffee table. Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta shifted on the love seat.

"Well I guess I should start with the fact that my mom and dad had a one-night-stand nine months before I was born. They exchanged numbers but didn't plan to call each other ever again. But my mom called about a month later to tell him that she was pregnant, and it was his. My dad had enough Catholic guilt about the whole situation, so they decided to get married. My asshole of a father didn't give a shit about me or mom, but he didn't want to look bad to his church, you know? My mom just didn't have the cash to bring up a kid alone, and he wasn't that bad at the time," Grantaire said, his forearms laid across his face to hide his expression.

"When I was three, my dad got laid off his job. He started drinking and taking half of the unemployment check to get shitfaced. My dad was an angry drunk, so he'd get home and scream at my mom, and my mom would tell me to stay in my room so I wouldn't get yelled at. I don't remember much of it, but my dad's yelled at me enough for me to guess how bad it was for her. When I was four, I realized that he'd started to hit her, but I didn't want her to know I knew, so I just tried to be really good so my dad wouldn't do the same to me.

"I didn't get the best grades in Kindergarten because my parents hadn't ever let me play with other kids and I kept getting distracted. My dad would take out his anger at me on my mom. So one night I stood up for my mom and yelled at my dad, and my dad beat the shit out of me for it, so I got to stay home sick for a week. After that, my dad hit me instead of my mom, and my mom was too scared to stop it completely, even though my dad knew how to hurt me without it making marks anymore. She'd take care of me after though. My mom was an angel to me..."

Grantaire trailed off. "My dad got a job again when I was in fifth, but it was really stressful, so he'd still smack me around when he got home. Apparently my mom's solution to this was to get the stress out of him by keeping him occupied in the bedroom. She hated him at this point, but she didn't know what else to do and he scared the crap out of her. That's when little Ant came around.

"My mom gave birth to my little sister Antoinette, and I had to protect my mom from getting the shit beaten out of her because she couldn't quiet her cries. By this point I'd grown use to all the abuse and stuff, so it wasn't a huge problem for me. My mom convinced my dad that Ant was crying because of all the shouting and anger in the house, so he agreed to take anger management if Ant would shut up. And she did, and my dad stopped hitting me. I started having more of a social life.

"Several years of just a bit of light verbal abuse later, I came home from a party while I was a junior in high school, and my dad caught me making out with a guy, because I was blasted drunk and forgot when he was coming home. The guy took off, and I had to explain to my dad that I was bi. So I got the shit beaten out of me for the first time in a long time, and was kicked out of the house. I gave Ant a portrait of her before I left, and she was crying her eyes out on the stairs while my mom was begging my dad to let me stay."

"I, uh, ended up calling Ép, and she let me crash in her room, and got 'Zelma to field her parents and some of their friends away to keep them from asking questions. Or making Mont more jealous than he already was," Grantaire huffed a laugh when Éponine smacked his head playfully.

He began again, "Anyway, I kept correspondence with my mom every once in a while, even after moving here with Ép. Then she called to tell me that Ant had killed herself. Apparently dad had been beating her without my mom's knowledge, like when she wasn't home. Ant had always been the sweetest thing, and she couldn't take it. So she killed herself, leaving a note that said that she just wished that she could have seen me, because I'd have made it all better somehow."

Grantaire paused for a long time, trying to reign in the emotion that was breaking his heart.

"I went to the funeral, but left Ép at her parents' place because I didn't want her to see my dad. He came up to me after and punched me and yelled at me. He said that she died because of me. Said that if I hadn't have been a disgusting faggot, then I wouldn't've had to leave, and then Ant would never have killed herself. Said I wasn't there when I needed her because I was too busy chasing dick, and so that's how I was outed to my extended family and family friends. They didn't really care that much, but that might have just been the grief."

"Your dad's an uninformed, bigoted, asshole," Enjolras mumbled.

The artist barked a laugh, "Yeah, I know. Anyway, so fast forward to that day I got beat up, it was actually him. He'd come and found me one day when I was going out to meet some friends from the art department to get drinks. He beat the shit out of me and left me there, but I was awake enough to call an ambulance and give them some basic info. My mom didn't want my dad to come after me again, so she tried to keep the hospital from calling. Skipping ahead to when I got out...

"I started getting threatening calls. My dad told me that he was hitting my mom again, and if I didn't come down once a week to take her place, then he'd keep doing it until she went the same way as Ant. So I did, every Saturday I'd go see him and he'd beat me, but made sure you couldn't tell unless I was shirtless. And I don't know, after that and all the bullshit he'd say to me... I didn't feel like seeing anyone," he finished.

Éponine, Joly, and Bahorel were battling themselves to keep from crying. Feuilly rubbed Bahorel's back as the larger man rubbed at his eyes. Jehan was curled into Courfeyrac, shuddering with sobs as her cried in empathy for Grantaire's struggle. Éponine bent down and placed kisses on her friend's head, affection seeping out of every pore. Enjolras took Grantaire's hands, moving his arms away from his face so that the artist would look at him.

"Grantaire, you are worth so much to us. You are important to us all and we want you with us no matter how you're feeling. Please don't shut us out again," the blond said quietly, still holding his hands. "You can tell us anything."

When Grantaire nodded in understanding, Enjolras let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My URL is loser-angel.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr url is loser-angel.tumblr.com  
> I haven't posted in forever, but I follow back.  
> I'll probably update this once a week or something like that. I'll try to work out a schedule.


End file.
